A Different Bend
by gnails
Summary: In which the world is ending. Jack and Ianto in Donna's alternate universe from Doctor Who's 'Turn Left'.


_lots of words. no seriously, lots of words. super duper unbeta'd._

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* * *

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Donna Noble is late. Bloody hell, she's _late_.

Her mother is in the passenger seat, complaining about something or the other that the secretarial job is so much more dignified than being just a mere temp. What could you do as a temp Donna? Really? Men do not want to marry a temp_._ Secretaries, though. Now that's a different story. Sylvia blathers on and on about the pros and cons about being a secretary, especially that men love secretaries.

Donna rolls her eyes and waits at the intersection, her turn signal clicking in time with the passing seconds.

Then, something whispers behind her ear, slow and seductive.

_Turn right _it murmurs.

And for some reason without rhyme, Donna finally relents. Much to her mother's approval, she turns right. The insect perched on her back rattles, dangerously quiet like a dying person's wheeze.

* * *

The change is nearly imperceptible; a small ebbing flicker of distortion and at first Jack doesn't notice it. Time stutters for a fraction of a second, and he looks up from where he is, staring into the nothingness the air offers. The odd sensation barely tingles the back of his neck, but it makes him turn around, look at the stairs down to the archives, sniff the space around him.

Ianto steps out from the archives with a boringly oval artifact in one hand, his pocket watch in the other, and notices Jack's furrowed brow.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

Jack shakes his head because the feeling is long gone and probably was never there. "Nothing." He notices the time, eight o'clock PM, give or take a few minutes. "Ianto, what are you doing here on Christmas Eve?"

Ianto blinks and Jack hardly catches a flinty expression that is immediately replaced by a pleasant smile. "My family's out of the country, and..." Ianto shrugs. "I traded Tosh rift duty so she can go visit her mum. I'll be leaving soon. Anyway, was there something the matter sir?"

"No, nothing. I need some sleep." Ianto knowingly nods, well aware that Jack never sleeps.

Jack moves aside to let Ianto through, but looks over his shoulder, confused. Yet as he combs his hands through his hair, the odd feeling vanishes as suddenly as it appeared. He watches Ianto in the corner of his eye and senses time moving smoothly around the other man. It was as if time readjusted, picked itself up and continued like it never stopped flowing.

Jack rubs his eyes and sighs. "It was probably nothing," he mutters.

So he shifts his attention to more important matters at hand such as eying Ianto's bum from the office and leering at the man with an obvious smirk. Ianto pointedly ignores him and logs onto the mainframe from Toshiko's computer. After fifteen minutes of ogling, Jack soon leaves Ianto well alone and retreats to his office in order to contemplate the strange temporal sensation from earlier since the oddity of it picks at his mind.

However his attention becomes frayed and splits into asymmetrical cracks. The fracture in time is long forgotten when he receives a phone call from UNIT, and his heart drops to the floor, shattering into pieces the size of sand particles, hope dashed to oblivion.

Ianto calls his name from outside; it was time for him to leave. Jack never responds but hears the cog roll open. When it hisses shut, his knees finally buckle, and he crumples to the floor without crying because he just _can't_.

He lies on the cold floor, dry tears prickling his eyes as he hyperventilates and then excruciatingly re-learns how to breathe. _Inhale, exhale, repeat._ Even as his cell phone rings off the hook with urgent news, shrill and loud, Jack shuts himself in his office for the eternity to come.

Later deep into the night when there is nothing left for him but death and resurrection and forever, he makes best friends with the Jack Daniels family. There is no Doctor anymore, and Jack dies twice by dawn.

* * *

Ianto picks up Jack's greatcoat, covered in soot, dirt, and vomit. He mildly wonders how much Jack drank this time, so he counts the empty bottles before clearing it all away with a trash bag. Ianto twitches just thinking about the gaping hole in the Torchwood budget due to Jack's recent expenditures. His taste for fine alcohol, a diet of twelve-year-old malt and one-hundred-year old wines consumed in the dozens costs enough money to buy a small army.

The greatcoat flutters at the crook of Ianto's arm while Jack is sleeping away his latest drinking binge in his bunk. Ianto makes a note to go the dry-cleaner the day after tomorrow.

The rest of the team are scattered throughout the hub, worse for wear after their latest alien round-up. They all sport a gash, a bruise of some sort, and a bone-crushing resentment towards their leader.

"It's the first time he's been drunk on duty." Ianto hears Toshiko say to Suzie, who is being stitched up by Owen.

"It isn't the first time Tosh. It isn't even the second time. For godssake his liver should be annihilated by now," Owen grumbles as he delicately loops a string through Suzie's side.

"Does anybody actually know what's wrong with him? This was all relatively sudden," Suzie asks.

Even Ianto is curious. "We don't know."

"He needs to sober up fast because if he ever does something as stupid as what he did out there again, I'll have to throw him into one of the cells. Idiot of a man can't even lead, but he _can_ get his bloody team killed."

"There has to be something going on with him though," Toshiko says, leaning over a rail.

Owen finishes his last stitch and leaves the minute Suzie is off of the autopsy table. "There's no way to help that bastard."

He mumbles an endless string of curses until the cog door hisses shut behind him.

Suzie tugs at the large bandage on her abdomen, pulls down her shirt over the extra stitches, and slowly takes one step after the other to her workstation. She traces a line along the alien metal gauntlet they discovered yesterday, innocently sitting on her table amongst scraps of metal, wires, and blueprints.

"Ianto? Call UNIT first thing tomorrow morning." Suzie puts down the gauntlet and opens up a drawer. She sifts through it until she picks up a red folder with the UNIT insignia printed on its cover. She opens it, picks out an official-looking document and signs it."Tell them that Captain Harkness is unfit to lead Torchwood Three, and that we will need extra assistance after he is suspended."

"Are you allowed to suspend him?" Toshiko quietly asks.

"No, but Ianto can." Suzie folds the paper and hands it to Ianto. "You've spoken to the Brigadier, and now, you have my full permission as second-in-command."

Toshiko watches them curiously, confused by the exchange of power. Ianto signs his name under _Signature of limiting party_ and tucks the loose-leaf away in his breast pocket.

"Then why none of us are able to? I mean...I thought we were above the government, and I assumed that meant UNIT as well."

"Checks and balances Tosh. It was Jack's idea in case anything got out of hand, especially after that debacle at Torchwood one."

Ianto tenses. Suzie doesn't even notice.

"I'm the most distant from the team," he tells Toshiko who flashes him a guilty look. "Because I'm the newest," he then adds to ease her apprehension.

"It's also because he's not a field agent and therefore not completely under our chain of command," Suzie briskly explains. "He isn't as attached to Jack as we tend to be, to put it in simple terms." Suzie has a wry, almost cynical smile on her face. "I'm going home now. I need a bottle of sherry to keep this down. Let me know if there are any other disturbances."

Suzie achingly makes her way to the invisible lift and ascends.

Toshiko pulls Ianto aside, her small hand on his upper arm.

"Before you go contact UNIT, he needs help." She tilts her head in the direction of Jack's office. "If you suspend him, knowing Jack, he'll probably drink himself to death unless someone stops him right now. He's _destroying_ himself." She emphasizes the point with a small gesture of her hand and then crosses her arms. "But...I...don't know how to handle a situation like this."

Ianto doesn't tell Toshiko that he's already witnessed Jack die from alcohol poisoning and subsequently come back to life. He doesn't understand why he keeps that fact to himself, but he does.

Toshiko's words are so genuinely _concerned_ that he awkwardly pats her on the arm. "I'll take care of it."

After all, that's what his job is.

Toshiko gives him a reserved but grateful smile. She waves Ianto her good-byes, slings her bag over her shoulder, and leaves him to deal with Jack.

Ianto discovers Jack sprawled out on his bunk, deep asleep. He'll confess, the man is dashingly handsome and charming, but upon seeing the same, haphazard clothes Jack's been wearing for the past two days and the permeating stench of rum and whiskey drenched into the walls, Ianto is far from impressed. He sighs and brushes back Jack's hair, his fingers trailing the brown locks. Ianto abruptly stops himself and retracts.

He tucks Jack in, settling the wool blanket underneath his chin and sets to pour the age old whiskey down the drain. He repeats it with every bottle he finds in Jack's room (and there are many). Watching the liquid spill into the sink, Ianto finds it somewhat tragic because Jack kept such good liquor.

After he's done with his chores, he goes downstairs and kisses Lisa's cheek and tells her he's sorry he's late. He reads her Wuthering Heights because she's always been fond of period melodramas. After they're done with that, maybe they'll read Jane Eyre.

She cries after a while because the metal is pressing down on her bones. She could hear them breaking. Ianto increases the morphine to her bloodstream.

After her tears are gone and her eyes are lucid, she asks about his day. About his boss. Ianto shrugs his shoulders and then tells her Dr. Tanizaki replied to his e-mail. Despite the metal, her smile is incredibly organic and wonderfully brilliant.

"I'll fix this, I promise," he tells her. She says she doesn't doubt it.

* * *

Jack wakes up the next day with a splitting headache, and his hand instantly gropes for the forever-filled glass of alcohol beside his bed, the one pick-me-up for the mornings. The gaping space disorients him. He gropes some more, only to find more empty space. Annoyed, the climb up the ladder takes him longer than usual, and the clock on his newly organized desk informs him it's a little before seven in the morning.

Grumpy from the pounding sensation in the back of his brain and his mouth feeling like moth-ridden wool, Jack searches his desk for his stash of alcohol. But as every attempt comes out empty-handed, he becomes more and more aggravated, a hot, rising sensation that _someone _dared to take his liquor.

But because of his disorientation, he doesn't even notice that he had stumbled into his chair. He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, hoping that the dull ache in his body would just for once leave him alone. The strong smell of newly made coffee attacks his nose, and Jack gravitates to the coffee on the edge of his desk. It's steaming, hot and fresh and a sign of that at least one person of his team is present. Jack blesses Ianto as he has his fill of coffee.

After he's finished, Jack leaves his office. The hub is empty. He checks the CCTV and sees that Ianto is manning the information centre, sharply dressed and looking bored. Jack flips out his cell phone and rings Ianto.

"Sir?"

"Ianto, small question," Jack says amicably, "but I noticed that my crystal tumbler's missing. Do you know where it went?"

"Threw it away."

Jack pauses. He harshly breathes in through his nose. "Why did you do that?"

"Thought you didn't need it." Jack imagines Ianto shrugging nonchalantly, breezy and unconcerned.

"I..Never mind. Another question Ianto."

"Sir?"

"What happened to the whiskey that was next to the tumbler?"

"Ah, that. I poured that down the drain." Jack clenches his phone until its bruising his fingers a sickly purple. Fuming, he curtly snaps his phone shut and makes his way up in order to show Ianto the sheer idiocy of his actions.

When Jack confronts Ianto, his anger seething, eyes wildly searching for something, something, anything, Ianto doesn't even try to look up. He flips a page of the magazine he's reading with his finger and oozes casual flippancy.

"I regret nothing," Ianto tells him, measuring his words. Jack growls and slams his hands on the counter.

Ianto, unperturbed, carefully closes his magazine and sets it down. He looks up at the man looming over him. His expression is the perfect example of neutrality.

"But if you pull another stunt like last night, I will call UNIT headquarters about your recent behavior. Do not think I am bluffing when I say you will be suspended."

"Empty threats Ianto. I'm the boss, remember?"

Ianto gathers his mug and stands up, levelly facing Jack with his mouth in a firm line.

"Empty it may be now sir, but if someone becomes severely injured, or better yet, killed under your direction because of your recent _habits_, I think you'll find that I'm not giving empty threats."

Jack sharply inhales, the sound of being emotionally slapped. His jaw locks and tightens.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me." Ianto brushes past him. "Get over your problems and clean yourself up Jack, before one of us ends up dead."

Jack watches Ianto recede behind the bead curtain, feeling all the unhidden disgust behind Ianto's words, and the distinct sensation of _whathaveIbeendoing?_ His mind reels like it's been stung and then slapped hard. Jack raises his hands to rub his throbbing temples, and notices, his hands are shaking, quaking and quavering and slipping like the grasp he has on himself. He has a sudden need to feel the Cardiff dreary air on his skin.

Jack exits out the entrance of the tourist center, heavily panting and lunging into the frighteningly chill outdoors.

And behind the beaded curtain with his back pressed against the wall like it's his last standing support, Ianto shakily breathes as all his false courage swiftly leaves him. All of that cool confidence reminds him that no matter what, he's still a coward.

Ianto holds his hand against his mouth when a choking gasp escapes him. He squeezes his eyes shut and wishes, like so many other times, that this wasn't his life.

* * *

Gradually in the span of months, Jack picks up the bit-sized pieces of himself, carefully yet sloppily reassembles, and mends, leaving evident chinks but patched up nevertheless.

After the alcohol-induced days, deaths by choking on his own vomit, and waking up with bad hangovers the size of Asia, Jack finally realizes that there's so much more than just him and his troubles. In fact, there's a world that needs protecting and lives to be lived. Now that the Doctor is dead, it's his responsibility.

The day it happens-the day he puts himself together as a whole, and Jack's world seems to realign itself once again-Ianto approaches him in an especially starched suit and gives him a cup of his best-brewed coffee.

Some time later, Jack leaves Ianto a note by his computer.  
_  
__I'm sorry._

_And thank you._

* * *

Gwen Cooper joins Torchwood Three a day after Suzie's suicide. A week later, the Royal Hope Hospital ups and disappears to the moon and reappears with a single survivor. Jack mourns like the rest of the country, dignified and unattached. Yet, he's heard of Sarah Jane Smith, and her death is a remnant of the Doctor's memory lodged like a splinter in Jack's mind. Still, the tragedy doesn't quite strike home. They all mourn, but as he shuts off the television and Gwen, Tosh, and Owen go their respective ways, he notes Ianto's stiff posture, pallid complexion, and reads Canary Wharf in his eyes. The traumatic misery he emanates is almost unbearable.

Ianto feels Jack's hand on his shoulder, heavy and reassuring. "It'll be okay."

He nods mutely, but ultimately doesn't believe Jack since the woman living below their feet, grotesquely hardwired to metal and pain, is living proof that it will never be okay.

* * *

Jack visits Ianto a week in to his suspension. He stands at the entrance, mentally steeling himself while thinking of every possible outcome for his sudden appearance.

"Can I come in?"

Ianto swings the door open, presenting how the place is sparse and limited. Like the person living there doesn't exist beyond necessity. Take-away boxes clutter a tiny coffee table and dishes are piled in the kitchen sink. The apartment doesn't quite reek, but it smells like someone who has been perpetually living in a confined area. Jack tries not to hover between Ianto and the corridor behind him and stiffly allows himself in.

He takes off his coat, placing it on a chair and then stands awkwardly in the middle of Ianto's living room. Ianto closes the door behind them. He pads into the room and gracelessly falls onto a ratty couch. Jack opens his mouth to give a preempted speech, a reason for even coming over.

"I don't want your sympathy," Ianto cuts in.

"Ianto I-"

"I saw you die and come back to life."

Jack shuts his mouth. He carefully seats himself beside Ianto, giving an ample amount of space between them.

"When?"

"After one of your malt and scotch binges. I found you passed out in the showers. You'd died choking on your vomit," Ianto bluntly states.

Jack hesitates, unsure of what to say. "I-"

"I panicked," Ianto continues, "I ran upstairs to find my phone. I went back down, and there you were, picking yourself up from the floor." For the first time, Ianto looks at him, vacant and bored except for the hint of a quiver under his voice. "You never saw me."

Jack shakes his head. "Is that why you called me a monster?"

"You killed her. That's why you're a monster." Ianto is unable to gaze at Jack when he says the words. Jack pauses, and the silence stretches. He clasps his hands together and leans forward.

"Did you know why I started all that-...drinking?"

Ianto shifts uneasily. "No."

"The Doctor died."

Ianto stays quiet for minute, processing the information, a flicker of confusion passing through his face. "TheDoctor? The alien Queen Victoria encountered, and Torchwood was created to fight against?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"_The_ Doctor?"

"I knew him before I worked for Torchwood. I traveled with him in fact. One of our adventures turned out pretty bad, and so I ended up the way...you witnessed." When Ianto doesn't respond, Jack continues. "He was a...an amazing creature. A brilliant creature. He was supposed to have the answer to my condition."

Jack moves closer, just a mere centimeter, and his fingers barely brush Ianto's. "So I know how it is Ianto."

Ianto, snapping out of a daze, jerks back his hand and slowly inhales. Flustered, he lays his head on the couch and stares up at the ceiling. Jack withdraws his hand. He sighs.

As Ianto counts the mottled dots from mildew, it clicks into place. Jack is helping because he's been in the same situation before. Not exactly the same per se, but the same nevertheless. It's a logical connection, but at the moment, Ianto feels anything but logical.

As he watches Jack twist his hands together, a nervous tic he's never seen before, he doesn't feel human. He's a ball of dampened nerves. After Lisa, the electricity doesn't flow through him anymore, and he doesn't want to connect. He doesn't want Jack's sympathy or whatever the hell Jack has to offer.

But even still, Ianto isn't sure of _that_. He isn't sure of what he wants anymore. He has more questions than he has answers.

"Why did you come here for?" His voice is hoarse and soft.

"To forgive you."

Ianto scoffs. "You want to save me. You and your damned messiah complex."

"No. It's because I pity you. Before, you reminded me I have a responsibility to the people of this world, to Torchwood, to my team, you. "

"You're forgiving me because it's your duty, and I'm your subordinate? Because I forgave you first?"

"Because I care for you," Jack ruefully says. Ianto studies Jack for a moment, trying to read the ulterior motive behind his words.

"I'm not sorry for what for saving her," he finally says, "I regret nothing."

Jack gets up to leave. "I know you don't. Just don't do it again."

He shrugs on his coat and heads down the hallway to the door. He gives Ianto a final look over his shoulder. His expression is wistful and a little melancholic and all the while, unreadable. "I expect you back in three weeks."

Ianto listens to the door clack shut. He lies there for a moment, contemplating, confused, and he doesn't know what to make of the conversation and of Jack. He still has more questions than answers, but nothing made any sense to him anymore.

* * *

In the meantime, Jack sets Ianto up with a therapist four times a week. A specialized sort of therapist working for UNIT, expert in helping soldiers cope with their exposure to aliens, the stresses of their job, and the inherent trauma of it all. He's a bald and stunted man with spectacles perched on his nose and looks more like an out-dated scholar than a healer. Immediately Ianto doesn't trust him.

Their first session, Ianto tells him the only reason why he actually agreed to be there is so he can get back to his job. The therapist simply nods, and they sit there for an hour. Ianto quietly sips his tea. The therapist jots down notes. The hour and a half ends, and Ianto returns to his lonely exile.

By the third session, Ianto's admitting that he might be going insane because he keeps seeing his dead girlfriend, and that his boss is too close for his own good. The words spill out of his mouth because the silence is infuriating, he can't stand it. It all comes rushing out in a downpour. The therapist bobbles his head up and down as Ianto speaks, each word punctuated by an up and then a down. By the fourth session, Ianto's spilling all of his childhood secrets, including the one where he nearly burnt his house down with a pack of cigarettes he swiped from a local drug store.

By the seventh, the therapist has heard everything Ianto has worked on, worked for, and worked against in Torchwood.

"I live and breathe Torchwood. I'll probably die Torchwood," he says. He however doesn't say what's even worse is that his boss _is_ Torchwood.

The therapist simply nods, up and down.

By the tenth session, Ianto finally confesses that the reason why he hates himself so much is that not only could he not save his girlfriend amongst the burnt corpses at Canary Wharf, but because he might have fell for his boss while the same half-converted girlfriend was suffering in the dank depths of the hub. That maybe, all that time he was taking care of his boss and saying it was because he would do anything to keep Lisa alive, it was because he cared. He always cared. He tells the therapist he hopes to god it isn't true because he can't stand any of this anymore.

The therapist sets down his pen and paper and for once, doesn't nod. Instead, he slides a small pill across his desk.

"Your boss is offering you retcon."

Ianto considers it for a moment. He palms the pill and stares at it.

"Are you going to take it?"

Ianto falters. Then he moves, stilted, and sets the pill back down on the desk. He crosses his arms and leans back.

"No."

Their last session, Ianto tells the therapist he needs to move on from this part of his life, but how can he when he really can't figure out what he's living for. The therapist simply nods like every other time, a rhythmic up and down that's meant to be reassuring. Ianto has a strong urge to chuck the crystal paperweight on the desk at the therapist's head. Amidst the frustration that makes him more prone to sudden truths, he tells the therapist he hasn't seen Jack since a month ago, he hasn't done anything except watch re-runs of EastEnders and Coronation Street and come to these ridiculous sessions that dredges up old memories he doesn't want or even need.

Ianto stops himself halfway when he remembers feeling of the retcon pill in the palm of his hand, minute and pristinely white. The therapist peers at him behind his spectacles.

"I don't mean that," Ianto says.

"Why?"

Ianto rubs his eyes and shakes his head slowly, slowly enough as to clear his mind from a bone-deep lethargy. "I think I know what I'm living for. I told you the answer in fact."

"What are you living for Ianto?" The therapist's accent is RP and anachronistic to Ianto's ears. It almost makes him laugh. So he does. It comes out as a small chuckle, exhausted and fading and a bit hysterical.

"Torchwood," Ianto says, resigned by the fact. He slumps forward. "I live for Torchwood."

The therapist nods and approves Ianto fit for active duty. Then he clicks his pen and closes his notepad.

* * *

When Ianto returns, no matter how he treads, he treads carefully. He tip-toes around his co-workers and tries to blend into the background like before. Except it wasn't like before. This time, they're aware of him. They see him for who he is, what he's capable of doing. It is a small understatement to say that Ianto's first weeks back are not the most pleasant.

Owen eyes him like a hawk whenever he's in the room. Toshiko tries her best to reach out to Ianto, mend fences, and purposely become friends because they're more alike than they think. Although he leaves her her favorite biscuits, he often evades her, hiding out in the archives. Gwen is Gwen, and she begins calling Ianto 'sweetie' when she needs something from him. He appreciates her forced warmness, but the artificiality grates his nerves. He says nothing of it and serves her and all of them their coffee on the dot.

Sometimes, he thinks he's drowning in pity, in sorrow, in Owen's snarky remarks, the team's quiet movements, avoiding him, because they don't know how to act around him anymore. His body becomes an automaton. His actions are monotonous, the same, day in, day out. The cases and aliens they meet no longer faze him, and this becomes his life.

Then Jack takes them on a trip, and they survive the cannibals. Reality has a creative way of slapping Ianto across the face. A knife to the throat is always a wonderful wake-up call.

Ianto approaches Jack several days after the 'team-building camping trip'. He's not quite sure what he's looking for, maybe it's from the fear of dying or the sudden rush of survival or perhaps even the painkillers, but the sluggishness in his bones has been replaced, piece by piece, with a slow-burning, droning, and thriving need to get answers, get something, _do_ something_._

Ianto knocks Jack's office door and enters. He crosses his arms.

"Retcon?" he asks Jack, cautious and a little weary.

Jack shuffles some papers and stacks them on his desk. "I was giving you a choice."

"You were insulting me."

"I didn't mean to."

"You thought I couldn't keep your secret."

Jack pauses. He links his fingers together, props his elbows on his desk and looks up. "I don't doubt your ability to keep secrets Ianto." Ianto flinches. Jack watches him, his face solid and somber. "It's your loyalty."

It dawns upon Ianto. "You sent me to the therapist to finds out if there would be a repeat of Lisa."

"That, among other things."

"Other things?"

"I read the therapist's notes about you."

Ianto should be indignant and annoyed that he's not getting his question answered and his privacy violated, but he's too tired to care. "And?"

"I'm sorry." Jack stands up, maneuvers around the desk, and faces Ianto, his hands in his pockets and his posture stiff.

Ianto raises his eyebrows and then drops them. He sighs and fiddles with the folder in his hands.

"Don't be. I chose all of this." He punctuates the statement with a wave of his hand, sweeping across the hub. "I can deal with the consequences."

"But nothing's ever inconsequential in Torchwood. Everything we do has weight to it, and you need to be able to carry it. Ianto, I need to know. Will there ever be a repeat of past events?"

Ianto's eyes linger on Jack's face, his lips. "No."

"Can I trust you?"

"Yes."

Jack scrutinizes him closely until his mouth curls up, just slightly on one side. "I don't understand you."

He reaches out his hand and grasps Ianto's tie, his lopsided smirk firmly set in place. It's teasing, but the look in Jack's eyes is incomprehensible to Ianto.

Ianto copes with the sudden invasion of his personal space, calms himself and settles back in to his old role as the butler. He stands up straighter, smoothes out his voice, and ignores the boiling emotions in him. "There's not much to understand sir."

He smiles lightly and steps away to pick up a tray from Jack's desk.

"Who are you Ianto Jones?" Ianto's tie slides through Jack's hand like water. Ianto swallows. "Hiding beneath all that silk veneer?"

Ianto thinks of a million different replies to the question. Some sarcastic, some flirtatious, some both. But for once, and he doesn't understand why, he's honest.

"I'm no one."

Jack steps in, following Ianto, leans in closer, his nose touching the throbbing artery pulsating in Ianto's neck. He pins Ianto's hand against his side, right along the hollow of his hip. Ianto's breathing hitches and an odd blooming heat unfurls in his chest.

Jack breathes in, and his lips touch Ianto's skin. "You're someone."

"I'm no one." Ianto's voice cracks.

Jack brushes up against Ianto's cheek and plants a kiss in the nook below his ear and above his neck. He places his hand on Ianto's lower back and presses the man closer. His voice thrums when he speaks. "Oh, you're definitely someone."

He swipes his tongue across Ianto's jaw line, feeling the bristling stubble.

Resolve instantly fleeing, Ianto forcefully pushes Jack against the wall and crams their mouths together in a desperate kiss. Jack responds in fashion, his hands pulling Ianto's head closer_, closer,_ their lips meshingwhile Ianto grips his collar. Ianto isn't sure if it's the adrenaline swirling in his blood or the pheromones intoxicating him or even the fact that it's him and it's Jack, _oh god it's Jack_, but Ianto can feel himself in a whirl of all his emotions from the first day, and finally, everything is beginning to make sense.

Jack undoes Ianto's tie and lets the shimmering fabric fall to the floor. He untucks Ianto's shirt and lets his hands roam beneath it, feeling Ianto's chest rise with his shallow breathes. Ianto clutches Jack, tugging his hair as he arches his back. He loses his footing, and they tumble down to where the floor is solid beneath their bare skin, and their clothes become scattered everywhere, and during this all, Ianto lets go and loses himself to a man he can't help but to be inexplicably attached to.

* * *

Life continues. They move on.

Now the past's behind them, and Ianto is gaining back everyone's trust with, sort of pathetically in hindsight, coffee.

It seems that the world is also building itself up again after the catastrophe on the moon, and their future doesn't look bleak. The news reporters all say it's hopeful. And so slowly, people begin to forget that disaster ever occurred. Jack tells Gwen humans are resilient and that one day they'll live among the stars and travel through time. Gwen takes Jack's statement for a grain of salt and laughs it off.

Ianto, of course, knows better.

After tumbles in bed, Jack has a tendency for pillow talk. He always slips his hand through Ianto's hair and likes to speak of adventures on far off places, different times, the future, past, and present. With Jack, his stories come in two categories: impossible and outrageously impossible. The outrageously impossible ones make Ianto disbelieve with a raised eyebrow, but the nostalgia behind Jack's voice and the distant glaze in his eyes makes Ianto think twice.

He mentions the Doctor often.

Ianto rolls on his back, Jack beside him murmuring. "I think you would've liked him." His face is sincere, and his voice is broken and soft. It catches Ianto off-guard, leaving him a little uncomfortable. All these personal glances into Jack's life, Ianto starts to feel like an intruder who shouldn't be given these privileges.

He's tempted to get out of the bed and get back into his suits and professional barriers that keep him safe and warm. Ianto rolls over again on his stomach to the other side of his bed. He's not exactly sure how they got to this. But when he glimpses the man beside him, he has an inkling of an idea that it had to do something with the larger-than-life figure known as Jack Harkness. Ianto sighs.

He raises his head from his pillow and asks Jack, "Do you know what a stopwatch can do?"

Jack looks at him quizzically. "Uhm, is this supposed to be a trick question?"

"No."

"Tell you how fast you can run a race?"

Ianto rolls his eyes as Jack chuckles, amused with himself.

So he tells Jack.

Then Jack gives him the most wolfish grin he's ever seen.

* * *

For once, they're okay.

* * *

Even after year of weevil hunting, anachronisms, anomalies coming out the rift, and all that is attributed to the job, Torchwood Three is always too dedicated to their cause, leaving the five members spending a jolly Christmas Eve in Cardiff after chasing an alien tourist's pet parakeet for five hours. Gwen leaves before seven o'clock, because for her, there is always someone waiting at home with a spruce tree and a delicious pasta dinner.

The rest ignore the gaping void in their lives called a lack of a normal social life, and instead, Ianto orders pizza. They end up guzzling down eggnog, singing slurred carols, and swapping stories over glasses of scotch and wine and soda. Jack has never felt so content and worry-free in years, his grin large, wide, and surprisingly genuine.

Owen, Ianto, and Toshiko merrily pass out in the dark, wee hours of the morning. Once his team is snoring soundly, Jack gently places his cheek on top of Ianto's head, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

When the sun rises and hovers over the sky, Jack wakes up to see Ianto, Owen, and Toshiko, disheveled and huddled around Toshiko's computer. Their eyes are glued to the monitor screen. Jack hears the solemn voice of a news reporter over the speakers as he approaches them and yawns, smiling at the memories of the night before.

But when Toshiko looks up at Jack, and the horror in her eyes makes Jack's smile disappear, he instantly understands. "I tried calling," she says. Owen tightly grips her hand. "There's no service."

The world around Torchwood begins crumbling into frail pieces on Christmas Day as Jack holds Toshiko, her tears, and her anguish. Beside them, Owen watches Tosh's computer screen helplessly. He never did get to say 'I love you' to his mum because London blows up in a looming mushroom cloud of gray and shining gold, and their families are laying the remains of the city as dust scattered among the radioactive atmosphere.

Torchwood Three stands in Cardiff, powerless. Myfanwy soars above them, her low throaty cries reflecting the grievances the world now gives them, and Ianto hurries off in search of his only method of comfort. His hands shake when he passes out mugs of coffee.

Jack leads Toshiko to the couch, rubbing circles on her back.

An hour later, Toshiko lies on the couch, her tears dried up, her coffee mug empty, and her head on Owen's lap. Owen strokes her hair and emptily stares into the hub, his face expressionless. "I never called her. She was impossible to talk to. A harpy, that woman," he tells Tosh. "But she was my mum, you know?"

"Yeah." Toshiko moves her head and feels the fabric of his jeans rub against her nose. "I know."

As silence overcomes Owen and Toshiko, Jack sits hunched over his desk with his hands holding the sides of his head, ignoring the multitude of phone calls clogging the landline. Ianto quietly watches from the chair across Jack as he holds a cup of cold, untouched coffee. They are like that for hours.

After Toshiko is tucked in bed, sleeping away the grief with Owen watching over her since the forthcoming nightmares will scar them both, Jack seizes Ianto in a frenzy and messily kisses him while his hands roam over Ianto, reminding him that Ianto is real, quite real and alive. He takes him down the hatch where he desperately fucks Ianto with mindless passion and blind sorrow in his bed. It is neither romantic nor sensual but rather pure and unadulterated sadness, and Ianto clenches his teeth to stop himself from breaking down. Instead, he takes it in stride since someone has to be Jack Harkness's pillar of strength and stability, and he can't afford Jack to be like this. Even if it is the anniversary of the Doctor's death, and London is gone, Ianto tries not to falter.

Jack is his pillar, and if he falls, Ianto falls. Ianto cries out before collapsing to the bed with Jack toppling over him. Jack rolls over, his back facing Ianto, and does nothing. Ianto sighs and stares as the ceiling while he drapes his arm over his forehead and the sweat on his body dries.

"This can't be happening," he subsequently admits to no one. His brave front is weakening, and it's too overwhelming for him. The emotions, the people, the disasters, catastrophes, deaths, lives are suffocating him while he works hard to keep Jack standing. He thinks of Toshiko and Owen, and he noiselessly keels over the white sheets and reigns himself in, his face in his hands.

* * *

Toshiko is the first to leave.

Owen shortly follows after her.

"She can't survive on her own," he tells Jack. "She needs someone there."

It's the most compassionate thing Jack has heard Owen say. So, he lets them go.

* * *

"I donated my apartment to some refugees."

Jack openly stares at the man before him. The pressed suits are gone, pawned off for extra change because there isn't enough money anymore.

Ianto is learning to scrape by. He's rejected the ten times Jack offered to sell his greatcoat. He has no need for suits anymore; they're useless. Besides, he's getting accustomed to his jeans, shirt, and rough jacket combination. It reminds him of uni and nostalgia of the times before Torchwood and those very awkward moments in college. But the clothes are nothing more than clothes.

Jack leans back into his leather chair and continues staring with a small frown. Ianto hands some cash to him with a small storage box under his arm.

"We should be able to get some petrol. And a little extra than just what the food stamps give us."

Jack doesn't take it, but instead turns to gaze at the flimsy cardboard box in the other man's hands. He doesn't want to believe that Ianto's whole life is contained in there.

"How-where are you going to live then?" Ianto easily shrugs like his philanthropic gesture was nothing more than picking up dry-cleaning. Jack doesn't acknowledge the shrug, and his frown deepens.

"Here, I suppose. I don't have much to move since I sold most of my belongings. I think I'll crash on the couch."

"Ianto, if you're running out of money..." Ianto vigorously shakes his head. "What about Gwen's place? She has a spare bed."

"No, she doesn't. She lent it out to a family from Bath."

"What about your family?" Ianto simply shakes his head again.

"I'll just take the couch." And he does, leaving Jack unable to protest.

But when night falls, Jack crawls out of his bed, climbs up the ladder, and out of the hatch. He watches Ianto sleeping, moving uncomfortably on the rigid couch that he's sure they picked up from off the street. He nudges Ianto's shoulder and brushes back his hair.

"Hmm?" Ianto asks sleepily.

Jack leans in. "You're coming to bed with me. No complaining."

Ianto sighs, somewhat resigned, and slowly gets up. He follows Jack to bed and his lips happily, albeit tiredly, curve upward when his head hits the pillow. He burrows himself into the mattress, inhaling the familiar. The bed dips beside him, and Jack's chest presses against his back. His arm reaches around and brings Jack's hand to his belly, holding it close.

Jack affectionately nuzzles the neck in front of him, splays his fingers out on Ianto's stomach, and stifles a yawn. He settles in.

Ianto's nightmares fade before he falls asleep.

* * *

Ianto takes over one of Tosh's more menial jobs and charts the recent rise in Weevil activity in sharp peaks on a graph. He bets that they're roaming beyond the sewers because they can smell the fear and anxiety in the air.

Along with that, he charts the rapid increase of fatalities in the city caused by accidents, diseases, aliens, humans.

To Ianto, it's only numbers and x-y axis and vector graphs, and he keeps that way until the cold storage starts to fill up exponentially.

Then suddenly, there's no room left.

* * *

Owen rings them up for the first time. There is no hello's, how are you doing's, but the hard truth that there is no one left to help.

"Those fuckers took her," he angrily yells through the speaker phone, distress evident, "to those damn camps!"

The conference room feels small and claustrophobic. Gwen sits close to Ianto and hides her face in the crook of his neck, incapable to face the situation before them.

"I'm going to rip their fucking throats out. Those bastards are going to kill her!"

At the head of the table, Jack hangs his head and clenches his hands until his knuckles turn white. "We can't do anything Owen."

"What!"

"It's out of our jurisdiction, UNIT's been consolidated with the military, and after London, we can't reason with them. We tried, Owen. We tried."

"Can't you do something?"

Ianto squeezes Jack's shoulder while pulling Gwen close to him. There is a long, pregnant pause that foretells the end for Owen. They all dread the answer but Jack the most.

"No."

"Fuck you Harkness," Owen finally spits out, acidic venom that tastes like hate and anxiety. "Fuck you and your fucking self-righteousness. It never did anybody any fucking good."

Gwen winces when Owen slams the phone.

"Jack, can't we do anything? This is Tosh," she pleads.

Ianto spares Jack the pain and answers for him. "No, we're already stretched enough over Cardiff. We...we don't have the resources to go against the military."

"I'm sorry," Jack murmurs softly. "If the Doctor was-"

"He isn't." Ianto tells the naked fact, the downfall of everything he knew. "We're on our own now." He hugs Gwen closer because now that Tosh and Owen are gone, really truly gone, they're the only ones left.

He can't lose that, not now.

Gwen trembles because her humane sensibilities can't handle the way things are. "She's already dead, isn't she?" She locks eyes with Jack, wide and searching for some sign of hope that just maybe...

Jack averts his gaze.

They never hear from Owen after that.

* * *

Gwen considers Jack a heartless bastard when he goes back to work so easily, like nothing has happened. Like Toshiko was never whisked away, never to be executed under the euphemism of "internment camp". Like Owen didn't follow after Toshiko, proving that he was braver, more of a man than Jack could ever be. She argues with him, asking, pleading why, why, _why_ can't they do something? Screw the lack of resources, screw the government, they _had_ to do something.

Jack ignores her and the chewing sensation eating his heart alive. He barks at her to get back to work.

Ianto pulls Gwen aside. He gently talks to her, empathetic.

"I think you should leave him alone right now Gwen."

"He's not doing anything! He's not even _trying_!"

"He's trying. But Gwen, this is out of anybody's control, even Jack's."

"But Ianto-"

"We can't fight against the reality of the world Gwen. No matter how much we try."

Gwen quiets down and sweeps her eyes up to Jack's office.

"He—we...I...he's not even sorry."

Ianto sighs and places his hand on her arm. "I know."

* * *

Jack watches the news reports each day, and each day, he feels like the weight bearing down on him since his first resurrection becomes heavier and darker. He counts twelve deaths within the past week, and at least three are his own. On those days, when he takes his initial, deep inhale of air after death while the alien dead as a doornail, seeing a pretty and worried Ianto looking down at him, he breathes.

But on the other days, when the deaths aren't his own and another innocent bystander is dead, he's reminded how understaffed they are, how he could never replace Tosh and Owen, and how much he could never fit in this whole leadership role from the very beginning.

It's then that he remembers what it's like to suffocate, with the walls closing in on him, until he's a hairbreadth away from death.

* * *

In the day, Gwen helps Ianto dump the bodies in a ditch, near a patch of tall trees by Brecon Beacons. The dumpsite is close enough to the old village that people won't find it, but far away enough that Ianto and Gwen don't have to remember the stench of mutilated flesh.

At night, Ianto keeps his ear on top of Jack's chest and listens to Jack's heartbeat, reminding himself that they're both still alive.

* * *

It takes Jack some time to finally start grieving.

When he does, he sits at his expansive desk, bows his head, and weeps bitterly.

Gwen watches him from behind the glass and at last, understands.

* * *

At the same moment, Ianto is deep in the archives, surrounded by a furiously overthrown room. There are papers and folders strewn everywhere, a table and chair flung over to its sides, and pieces of his old cell phone scattered across the floor.

And in amidst of the sudden chaos, Ianto lets out a sob.

* * *

"Ianto, sweetie, I need you to-"

"Not now Gwen," he snaps. "Can't you see I'm busy?" Gwen retracts the folder in her hand and backs off.

"I'm sorry, I thought-I'll, uhm, just do the paperwork myself then."

He doesn't feel sorry for his attitude. Ianto figures that he at least deserves to be bitter.

He smashes the coffee machine's lever up with great force and mutters obscenities as the machine sputters. They're almost out of coffee beans. No one sells fresh beans in Cardiff anymore. There's not much left in Cardiff anyway. It's probably even more difficult to find a new cell phone without swiping it off a soldier, then getting arrested, then getting sent off to someplace nobody likes to speak about and never coming back from.

Ianto clenches the machine until his hands are bruising and tender. When he releases, he can't feel anything anymore. He leans his forehead against the cool metal of the machine.

At that moment, he's never hated the Doctor so much in his short life. Ianto seethes inside.

"Had to go and die, didn't you?" he says as Jack passes him by. Ianto mentally curses himself when Jack rapidly halts in his footsteps and faces him.

"Pardon me?"

Ianto turns away, flustered and embarrassed. "I'll have the coffee ready in a minute sir."

Jack thrusts his hands in his pants pockets and uneasily watches Ianto walk away.

* * *

Ianto asks for a day off. Jack doesn't push for a reason. Instead, he patiently waits for Ianto to return. Which he does.

Ianto leaves in the morning and returns past midnight. He makes a beeline for the couch and unceremoniously throws himself on it. He buries his face into the cushion, absolutely drained of any energy. He hears footsteps clanging against the catwalk and down the stairs, becoming louder and louder until it stops. Ianto shifts his head and looks up.

"Why hello there," Jack says, hands on his hips and entertained by the sight before him.

"Sleep," Ianto groans.

Jack picks up Ianto's legs, sets himself down on the couch, and starts unlacing Ianto's shoes. "Wanna tell me where you went?"

"Not now."

"Tomorrow then."

"Can't." Ianto wriggles until his back is against the seat cushions. "I...I need the day off again."

Jack slips Ianto's shoe off and places it on the ground. He begins on the next one. "Tomorrow?" he asks mildly, hiding his worry and frustration.

"Yes." Ianto watches him under lidded eyes, an indecipherable expression on his face. Jack sighs and takes off the other shoe. He places it next to its mate. He leaves Ianto's feet on his lap.

"Ianto, what's going on?"

Ianto tenses. His face goes blank.

"Nothing, sir." It comes out more harshly and impersonal than he means it.

"Ianto," Jack warns. Ianto deeply inhales, visibly calming himself down.

"Look Jack, I'm exhausted. I...need some sleep."

"All right." Jack stands up, beginning to walk to his office, and then notices Ianto staying motionless on the couch. "Are you coming?"

Ianto doesn't meet his eyes, and that infuriatingly blank expression is still on Ianto's face. "I think I'll stay on the couch tonight."

Jack swallows his impatience and the unexpected ache in his chest, but he can wait for a day. "Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

"Sure. Thanks." Ianto turns onto his side and faces the couch. "G'night."

Jack picks up an afghan from Gwen's chair and unfolds it over Ianto, who gives no response to him. He gives Ianto one last glance, his eyes lingering until he goes back to his office to work the night away.

* * *

Jack is waiting on the couch when the entrance siren blares, and the cog door opens. Ianto trudges in with a large backpack, his hair mussed, jeans dusty, and reminding Jack just how young Ianto is.

"You look like you want to go weevil hunting," Ianto tells Jack from his workstation, explicitly aware of Jack's uptight pose hidden under a disguise of superficial casualness. Ianto drops the backpack on the ground with a sound thud and then stretches out his shoulders. He watches Jack in his periphery, careful of the toothy, discreetly threatening smile Jack gives him as he boots his workstation computer on.

"We need to talk," Jack says, his pale blue shirt unbuttoned and braces hung around his hips.

"Not now Jack."

"_Now_ Ianto."

"Jack-" Jack grabs his coat and wordlessly tugs Ianto's arm. Ianto complacently follows, supposing he could humor Jack just for the moment.

He pulls Ianto up and leads him away from the hub, and up to, of all things, a roof.

Ianto looks out from the rooftop, surveying what's left of his home. There are fewer lights than Ianto remembers from before everything. Cardiff looks muted, almost stagnant and lifeless. The stars don't shine in Ianto's eyes, but instead they're just _there_. Little balls of color against the black sky, small and pathetic and useless and devoid of any importance, much like how Ianto felt at the moment.

Ianto pulls the collar of his jacket up to stave off the wind. He gives a quick glance at Jack and then back to the landscape.

"How are you, Ianto?" Jack asks.

Ianto finds the question is absurd and so allows it an adequate response. "I'm fine."

"No you're not. What's going on Ianto?" Jack steps closer and places his hand on Ianto's shoulder, heavy, reassuring, comforting.

"Nothing."

"Ianto."

Ianto squashes the palms of his hands to his eyes, watching tricks of light flicker behind his eyelids. He doesn't want to confront it right now, but he knows Jack is a persistent man and that, in and of itself, is so very frustrating.

"All right. I...I broke my cell phone. I needed another one."

"You weren't looking for a cell phone the past two days."

Ianto cringes from the subtle, accusatory tone of Jack's voice, the paradoxical warmth beside it, and irritation bubbles deep within him.

"Jack, I don't want to talk about-"

"Ianto, please," Jack presses, his voice both firm and soothing.

"I can't-"

"Ianto," Jack says in a manner that simply scrapes upon Ianto like annoyingly sympathetic razors. Ianto's temper flares.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Jack doesn't drop the subject as Ianto hoped, but instead he uses the fleeting second as an opportune time to reach his arms out to Ianto in a plaintive offer.

Ianto fiercely twists away from Jack's embrace and moves back because Jack's motion of comfort aggravates him more so, leaving him—albeit petulant, but livid. He doesn't want comfort. He doesn't even _need_ comfort. There's no point for it anymore when the world is ending, and everyone is dead.

Jack tentatively steps closer.

"No," Ianto bitterly says, pointing at Jack and backing away. "I...I don't need this right now. I'm fine." His voice grows louder and his pitch, more hysterical.

"What's going on?"Jack asks, more concerned and gentler, as if placating a violent animal. He reaches out a hand.

"Stop it!" Ianto yells, turning away and everything pours out in gallons of unrestrained emotions. He's so ill and hungry and tired and angry at everything that's horribly wrong and unfair, mad at Jack and his sickening sympathy, but most of all, he simply hates himself_._

"Ianto, it's okay-"

"There's nothingJack!" Ianto screams, the empty sky as his witness. "The future isn't what it used to be. The Doctor's dead, and we can't even save anybody. We can't do _anything_. Stop telling me that it'll be okay-don't you see? There's nothing left!"

Ianto stretches out his arm to Cardiff. "Look," he chokes out and spreads out his arms to the empty rooftop, to him, to Jack, who follows his every move. "Look. Torchwood can't save that. Three people can't save that."

Jack regains his voice "Ianto, listen to me-"

"No, no, because I am fucking sick and exhaustedof listening to you and your messiah complexes when the world's going to shit. It's pointless, it's so fucking pointless," Ianto rants, his words increasing in raging fervor. He never notices Jack tensing, winding himself further and further in, like a spring pushed down to its limits.

"What good is it being Torchwood when everyone's dead? And there's a damn good chance I'll be dead-"

Jack's patience snaps.

Instantly, he roughly grabs the collar of Ianto's jacket and shoves him against the concrete wall, their faces centimeters apart. The back of Ianto's head painfully smacks the concrete.

"Do not even think about finishing that sentence," Jack threatens, hissing through his teeth. "We have each other, Ianto. That has to count for _something_."

Ianto gapes in surprise, breathing heavily, as his fury quickly subsides and quiets to a whisper. He opens his mouth and then closes it, voiceless. Ianto then grips Jack's arms, his fingers pressing new bruises.

"But..." Ianto trails off.

"It does, right?"

When Ianto doesn't reply, Jack's voice starts to take on a shade of life-sucking desperation. "Please tell me it does because if it doesn't-"

"I..." Ianto rises from the wall, but then clamps his mouth shut, unable to answer.

Ianto's silence, his inability to even answer, makes Jack's worst fear become a reality. Soon, something topples and crashes and immediately breaks in Jack's eyes. His face contorts into raw sorrow and complete despondence, crumbling. It's a heartbreaking expression that Ianto has never seen before, forcing his throat to close as the guilt steadily rises.

"No," Jack brokenly says. He pushes Ianto back and steps away. "No. You don't really-"

"Jack-"

"Just," Jack interrupts. "Tell me this means something. That we, _us_, mean something."

Ianto looks down at the ratty trainers at his feet and swallows thickly.

"Look at me Ianto." Jack gently tips Ianto's face up to stare at him. "Tell me."

Ianto's eyes swing away again.

"Ianto?" Jack almost begs.

Ianto's voice is sore when he speaks. "I can't."

Jack inhales sharply and lets go. He turns his back to Ianto to hide the pain and despair on his face.

He would've liked to pretend that this whole ridiculous, insane mess of a fight he was currently in never happened, and that the ache in his heart wasn't so hellishly tangible.

But that didn't matter anymore.

It's funny really. Nobody else but Jack knows how it feels to be a cosmic joke. Living, dying, constantly hoping, constantly disappointed, and no matter what, falling for the same cruel prank over and over again.

So instead, Jack looks out at Cardiff, a city with an unfathomable future, once again being reminded that even him, the mighty, immortal Jack Harkness, is human. Bleeding heart and all, which _hurt_.

Now, he's too tired and fed up because after all, agreeing with Ianto, there is nothing left. Despite being out in open space, Jack feels his world caving in on him.

Jack hides his hands in his coat pockets, the rough wool warming him from the chill and the sudden distance between him and Ianto. He exhales and then makes his way to the rooftop door, passing Ianto without a glance.

"Jack."

Against his better judgment, he halts.

"I couldn't save them," Ianto says, voice impossibly small against the wind.

Jack reluctantly turns around. Ianto gazes back, forlorn and lost in his uncharacteristically out-of-place clothes. His outfit is dingy and worn as he nervously twists a stray thread from his sleeve. He looks so young, fallible, and broken. It makes Jack realize that he's forgotten.

He's forgotten how aware humans are of their own limitations, how they're vulnerable to their insecurities and disillusionments and failures.

Jack fingers the collar of the battered jacket, tracing the bend of Ianto's neck until he spreads his fingers over the other man's skin.

"I know," Jack softly says. "We can't save them all."

"Jack." Ianto's voice cracks along his Welsh vowels. He raises his hands to Jack's shoulders. "It does."

Jack curls his hand around Ianto's face, not quite sure what Ianto means. But when it slides into place, Jack puts all of the substantial heartache aside and hopes for a brief moment.

"What does that mean?" he asks quietly.

"You're all that I have left in this world." Ianto blinks, his eyes vivid and alive. "It does. You, me. It always has. Jack—"

Ianto watches Jack's shoulders sag from relief and hears him say, "Thank God." Jack gently pulls Ianto close and crushes their bodies together. Ianto falls into him easily, relaxing as if he were melting.

"Promise me something," Jack says after a minute into Ianto's ear with a sigh.

Ianto arches in. "What?"

"Get out of these clothes. You look sexier in a suit."

Ianto muffles his unexpected laughter in the wool of Jack's coat. He marvels at Jack's keen ability to change the mood and easily forgets about the previous tension.

"Harassment," he chides.

Jack tightens his arms around Ianto and sadly smiles in reply.

* * *

Ianto leaves a bouquet of picked wild daisies at the wooden cross watching his sister's grave. He gives his apologies; sorry he couldn't have gotten them something better, since florists are so rare nowadays. He doesn't introduce them to Jack, who is standing beside him, but tells her that he'll be okay.

Ianto presses his fingers to his lips and touches the makeshift cross marked with _Rhiannon Davies_. He and Jack then make their way to their next destination, stepping around other fresh graves, dirt still overturned and the smell of earth clinging to their boots.

Jack stands back several feet, feeling awkward and intrusive as Ianto gently places more daisies on another tombstone. Lisa never had a proper burial. Her body is in cold storage with only a serial number to identify her. Jack doesn't try to take a step closer, but instead wishes that where ever she was, she understood why he did what he did.

"You and I," Jack inaudibly says to the air around him. "We're both lucky to know him."

Once Ianto is finished, he slowly makes his way to Jack, looking exhausted.

Ianto walks past him in a daze. Jack grabs his arm and carefully tugs him back. He slings an arm around Ianto.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

Jack gives Ianto a hard stare before he leans in and softly kisses Ianto on the cheek. Ianto looks at him, a little surprised.

"You're not fine. You lost your only family," Jack says.

"So did you."

"I lost mine a long time ago."

"I don't mean that Jack."

Jack knows exactly what Ianto means. He pulls Ianto closer and leads them to the car.

"People tend to bond over the people they lose," he tells Ianto as they followed a pebble path. "That's how we push on and survive."

Ianto doesn't respond.

"Give me the keys. I'll drive," Jack says when they reach Ianto's car. Ianto digs into his pocket and tosses the keys. Jack deftly catches them.

Ianto opens the car door and quickly slides into the passenger seat, rubbing his hands for warmth. "Let's go. Drive's long, and Gwen's waiting in the hub for us."

Jack starts the engine while Ianto slants his head against the window. Once they're on the road, Ianto dozes off. Jack watches the empty road and the empty buildings, devoid of all life except for the few instances he sees a hulking military vehicle full of wary soldiers.

He lets Ianto sleep, and when they're back at the hub, he gently helps Ianto into his bunk. He lets his hand brush back Ianto's hair, shaggy and unkempt, and kisses his cheek. He moves to climb the ladder. Ianto shifts over, facing Jack.

"Why do you keep doing that?" he asks.

"What?" Jack lets go of the ladder rungs. "The cheek thing?"

"Yes." Ianto props himself on his elbow. "It's different." Ianto doesn't want to say it's intimate, almost caring and tender that it makes his heart tug his ribs.

Jack doesn't opt for a straight answer, but instead gives Ianto a small smile, the sort that's nearly impossible for him to read, sad and enigmatic and warm all at the same time. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

When Jack climbs up the ladder, Ianto closes his eyes.

* * *

The Brig dies about three days after UNIT starts their investigation regarding the ATMOS in cars. No one's sure if its murder or old age. Jack asks Ianto to pour himself a glass.

"He was a good man," Ianto notes. He raises his cup in the Brigadier's honor.

"He was the last." Jack lets his head fall back against the couch.

Ianto downs his scotch. "The last what?"

Jack sighs. "The last person who could keep UNIT reputable. There's no one left now, even in the government. Just the prime minister and some fat politicians hoping to rule whatever's left of the UK. They probably won't venture to the south though. The fall-out might make them sick."

Ianto snorts. He slowly traces the rim of the glass with his finger. He puts his forehead on Jack's shoulder and closes his eyes.

"It was inevitable," Jack says. "The consolidation. There just aren't enough resources. Even we're barely getting by, and if it weren't for Tosh hardwiring the main generator to the alien battery source, we'd be working in candlelight right now."

Ianto's chest feels heavy. They haven't talked about Toshiko in some while, let alone mention her. "Thank God for her."

Jack stretches out his arm to rest along the couch and Ianto, his hand heavy and reassuring on Ianto's shoulder. "The Brigadier fought it every step of the way. Never wanted UNIT to be part of the internment camps."

"But I don't think he was expecting this. This...dystopia we live in now."

"No one was expecting it." Jack takes Ianto's empty glass and refills it. "Cheers."

He tips the glass back and swallows with a hiss.

* * *

When smoke fills the air, and a gargantuan spaceship arrives from out of nowhere, Jack secretly fears the future. He watches the television worriedly, clenching his hands together. The news reports become more frenzied with fear as deaths are ticked off, and ever since the Adipose in America, there had been nothing but more and more bleak news in the airwaves.

Worried government officials, sounding like chickens running around with their heads cut off, call for an urgent conference with Torchwood Three and whatever agencies still active. Jack obliges as a strange, sinking feeling overcomes him.

Because he knows, deep in his gut, something horrible is going to happen. _He knows_.

* * *

Before he leaves to meet with the officials, he sees a familiar flash of blonde hair. Jack blinks, she's gone, and so he blames it on the stress.

* * *

In the end, it's the ragtag team of Torchwood Three that is chosen to fight the Sontaran threat head on. Personal request of the government with a speech that included phrases such as "for the good of mankind", "great courage and valour", and "best Torchwood team out there". Gwen doesn't hide her disgust at their cowardice and snarls in a manner that would've made Janet proud.

Nevertheless, the mission itself is plainly suicidal. Jack looks warily at them and at his team sitting next to him.

But they agree go anyway because it's what they do. After all, they are Torchwood Three, and nobody else is.

Yet it's three against three hundred, three thousand, three million. Ianto's never been more scared in his life. In fact, he's bloody terrified.

A general who had been silent at the table finally speaks up. "UNIT will be behind you. Although Torchwood and UNIT have had their disagreements in the past, we're all fighting to protect the same thing."

A murmur of agreement spreads among the table.

Jack looks at the man, at the table, a group of people, and he finally realizes that they were simply trying to keep their home safe under the direst circumstances. And because of it, they made their hard decisions. He couldn't blame them. It was a burden they all shared, both the responsibilities and the mistakes.

"Thank you," he says. "General…"

"Oduya. Augustus Oduya."

"Thank you. General Oduya. We'll keep in touch."

The Prime Minister stands and reaches out his hand. Jack shakes it.

"Godspeed," the Prime Minister tells them.

Jack nods, and Torchwood Three leaves to save the world.

* * *

Outside of the makeshift government house, Jack lets out a sigh. The sky is hazy, but not enough to cover the blue color above them and the sunlight.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"What do you mean?" Gwen asks.

"All of this, London, the camps, this country we live in, it wasn't supposed to happen like this."

"You always did say that the twenty-first century is when everything changed," Ianto says.

"Not like this Ianto." Jack folds his arms across his chest, feeling too old for the body he inhabits. "Not like this."

* * *

UNIT discovers that mastermind behind ATMOS, a boy by the name of Luke Rattigan, is involved with the Sontarans. Torchwood ends up meeting the young genius hiding away like a hermit in his extravagant mansion. The boy is scruffy and small next the giant gadgets that decorate his home.

"I'm alone. They left me. They left me. Why would they leave me? I promised them everything. Shane, Jessica, Elaine..."

Ianto is tempted to smack the boy some sense, but Jack gives him pointed look.

"Luke, can you answer some of our questions?"

"Why should I?" Luke asks, sounding crazed. "You people have done nothing but ruin my life!"

"Us people?" Jack inquires.

"Adults and your wicked contentions and ideas of how you can rule the world. You're not smart enough. Not as smart as me. I could've done something. I could've made a world—"

Ianto resolutely walks up to Luke and then slaps him. Gwen and Jack stare, open-mouthed. Ianto gave up caring about propriety a long time ago.

"Stop wondering and start answering our questions."

Luke looks at him, shocked and distressed and all the eighteen years that he is. "They left me."

"But we're here sweetie," Gwen softly tells him. "We need your help. You can get them back after you help us."

"The Sontarans are getting ready for the invasion." Jack crosses his arms while Gwen holsters her gun and places her hand on the boy's shoulder. "This isn't working."

"The Sontarans?" Something hateful peeks its head in Luke's tone. "Those disgusting aliens. We made a deal, and then they threw it out the window. Saying I was too weak, that I wasn't worthy."

"Luke, I get that you're hurt, but we can get them back for you. If you help us," Gwen enunciates, "we can help you get them back for you." Luke bows his head and slumps. Gwen silently looks at Jack and Ianto, pleading for some support or perhaps a way to make the suddenly reticent boy aid them. Ianto shrugs his shoulders. Jack takes matters into his own hands and pulls Luke to him, leaning low to try to catch Luke's gaze.

"She's right. We can help you, but first you need to help us."

"A converter." Luke suddenly says to them. "If I can polarize the beam, re-do the reversal, and attach it their ship's own beam, I can change the atmosphere! Completely sweep it!" He rockets into action, picking up pieces of tech and making readings in his handheld computer.

"How fast can you make it?" Jack asks.

"Give me...two hours. Three hours tops."

He has a manic twinkle in his eyes that reminds Jack of the Doctor. He gives Gwen a small smile, the atmosphere becoming hopeful.

"I've been up there once," Luke explains as he takes a long wire and shoves it down a copper cylinder. "Put it into the internal mainframe of the main ship. Pretty workable tech, just stick it into the flagship. It has a workable beam. Of course, you'll have to be on the deck, but the transporter's right next to it."

Jack frowns. "No, we're going to have to infiltrate the ship."

"The ship's probably teeming with Sontarans. Is there some way we could get there without having the whole of the Sontaran army noticing us?" Gwen asks.

"They locked the transport pods after they shut me out," Luke tells them.

Jack looks at the purple pod. "Hold on a second."

He hops onto the pad and flips open his wristband. They watch him fiddle with the transport console, looking between the console and his wristband.

"What are you doing Jack?" Ianto asks.

"Just trying to recalibrate some things," Jack vaguely answers. Gwen questioningly looks at Ianto. He rolls his eyes. Luke observes curiously.

Jack jumps off of the pod and presses a button in his wristband. The pod comes to life, lighting up and whirring.

"It'll transport us anywhere on the ship now," he says matter-of-factly. He grins. "Courtesy of fifty-first century technology."

"Great," Luke jumps up to the platform, opening a panel in the control pad. "Now, if I could just find the right measurements for the ion de-stabilizer…"

Ianto gives Jack a look, roughly translated as _not enough time._

"Luke, I think it might be better if you came with us to the hub." Jack says as he steps aside and nudges his team with his shoulders. Gwen nods, giving her approval as Ianto parrots her.

"Huh?

"And you're going to be manning the comms top help us when we're up there."

Luke looks at him in bewilderment. "Really?"

"Really. We're taking you back with us. An old friend left us a good algorithm generator, and we _probably_ have everything you need. You'll be able to construct your atmospheric converter there."

* * *

They are blessed with a moment of respite before meeting with General Oduya and UNIT. Ianto checks his laptop every five minutes, monitoring Luke in the hub and re-running every single security protocol in case the boy decided to make a nuclear bomb instead of saving the world.

"It was Christmas all over again for him," Gwen notes. Ianto snorts.

"Or a wet dream. Your boyfriend's here."

Ianto watches her jog to Rhys and then squeeze the life out of him, whispering things in his ear. After a few minutes, Rhys's eyes are teary, and he's obviously trying his hardest not to begin sobbing. Undoubtedly, she told him. It was difficult to watch after that.

"You understand love? I've got to go now," he hears her say, her voice heartbreaking

Jack approaches Ianto and stands next to him by the car. Ianto looks up from his computer to see Jack watch Gwen give one last kiss to her boyfriend before they separate.

"Are we going to survive?" Ianto asks, the nonchalance betrayed by the barest hitch in his voice. He sees Gwen standing tall, trying to not cry as she waves goodbye to Rhys driving away.

Jack has an unreadable expression; his lips are stretched thin and small wrinkles etched in his forehead. He pulls Ianto aside and leads him on a short walk to the railing next to the Bay. Jack takes a slow, deep breath before facing Ianto, before drawing across Ianto's mouth with his thumb.

"Ianto, if something happens-"

"I know."

"You knew what I was going to say?"

Ianto gives Jack a deadpan look. "I know," he emphatically repeats.

"Well, just in case you predicted incorrectly." Jack draws Ianto into a hug, pulling him close and burrowing his head into the Ianto's shoulder. He feels Ianto's arms wrap around his torso, clinging with the same intensity. And Jack dreads the moment when he has to let go, untangle their limbs and greet the possibility that they were not going to get through this alive.

But, at least for now, they were alive. Jack was thankful for that much.

"What I was going to say was...I love you so damn much," he says, muffled and as soft as the beat of a moth's wings.

Jack is pretty sure Ianto never heard him, but when he pries himself from Ianto's skin, he sees his eyes glisten in the sunlight.

Ianto doesn't let Jack go, but instead, grabs the lapels of Jack's coat and jerks the man close, smashes them together and kisses Jack in a flurry of emotions, raging and devastating. He desperately holds on to Jack like a lifeline.

When Ianto does finally unlatch himself from Jack, a shuddering breath passes his lips.

"You too huh?" Jack hoarsely asks while his voice is suddenly unable to work properly.

"Yeah, me too."

* * *

"Oh Lord, they saw us. Rattigan!" Gwen yells into her comm link.

"I'm not sure of the schematics-" Luke frantically says. "I think it's in the main engine room, not by their docks, but right by-"

"Where?" Gwen yells.

"If you go fifty meters down the hall, take a left, another ten meters, and it should be on your left!"

Jack falls when a beam hits him in the back. Ianto runs back, trying to lift the man's weight against his shoulder.

Gwen hears the distant "_sontar-ha!_" down the corridor. She quickly grabs Ianto's arm and forcefully pulls him up.

"Ianto, UNIT just blew up half of the Sontaran fleet. He'll be okay!" Gwen drags him away from Jack's body. "He'll find us later!"

She continues to run down the hall, Ianto trailing behind her. Her boots skid against the floor when she notices something and then slams an ostensibly shiny button on the wall next to what appears to be a door. It slides open. Gwen and Ianto sprint in.

Ianto hits the button inside the room and then recklessly shoots it with his gun until the button is shattered, and the remnants of its cover is limply hanging from some wires. He looks behind them. Through another gaping doorway, a smaller corridor, industrial and gleaming, stretches beyond after them.

Ianto presses his link. "Rattigan, what now?"

"Engine room, engine room. Uhm, ahead another twenty-five meters."

The door begins to rattle from the force outside. Alien voices shout incomprehensible commands. Ianto gives Gwen the atmospheric converter and then steadies his gun.

"I'll hold them off."

"Ianto!"

"Go Gwen! Get the beam in!"

She hesitates, looking back and forth between Ianto and the empty hallway. She makes her choice and pulls Ianto into a firm embrace while kissing his cheek. Gwen runs up the corridor to the deck and wavers as she watches Ianto clutch his gun and slam a button. The door in front of her heaves forward, creaking from disuse and starts to shudder close.

"Bye Ianto," she says as her face is cut off by the metal door. Ianto raises his hand in farewell and gives a watery smile.

The door shuts with a loud thunk. Ianto turns around to face the door they came in through. He hears movement, rattling and clanging metal against metal, but then after a minut, the rattling stops. Ianto holds up his gun, waiting. His shoulders tense, and a million thoughts fly into his head like an overwhelming group of birds, harried by fear and adrenaline.

The ship lurches and starts to shake, rumbling. Ianto tips with the movement and falls over, his gun sliding away. He braces himself on a shaft protruding from the wall and warily looks at the ceiling as small bits of debris began to shake loose and fall.

He notices a small blinking red sphere rolling around, perhaps loosened from the sudden movement, across the room from him. The blinking starts to speed up at an alarming rate, and Ianto's heart jumps. A second later, it reaches the apex, and red light is a constant stream. The ball clicks.

Nothing happens, and Ianto starts to relax when the ship finally stops moving.

Then, a high pitched shriek suddenly attacks the room, and Ianto grimaces as he blocks out the noise with his hands. His ears start bleeding, dripping neck into his collar. He takes one slow step after another, hindered by the excruciating frequency the ball emits. Ianto grits his teeth, and even though his eardrums are tearing apart, he stays on track, one step, another, just another until he can-

The room explodes in a blinding white light.

* * *

Luke tells her that the beam button is on the right side of the room, just along the main console.

Gwen asks Luke to tell Rhys that she loves him. She takes a gulp of air, willing every ounce of courage back in to her. The converter is attached to a side console, wires all leading to the small box, but the right side of the room is covered by Sontarans, each with blasters trained on the wall of metal she's hiding behind.

When she's ready, she runs across the platform, dodges bullet after bullet, slams a button on a console and in a true heroic fashion, dies in a flurry of alien bullets, sparks flying out over her, illuminating her figure like a saint as her body falls to the ground.

Miles underneath Gwen, Luke squeezes his eyes shut. He didn't get a word in edgewise before he heard the screams, the explosions, and when it's all over, the static from the channel quietly buzzes in his ear.

* * *

Ianto wakes up, his vision swimming and lying among the wreckage, skin burnt and peeling with a long metal rod lodged in his abdomen. His mind reels from the pain, the prickling sensation of thousands of needles all over his body.

"Jack," he hoarsely rasps. "Jack. Jack?"

His bloody, burnt hand reaches for his comm link, but he notices that it's across the room, melted into a useless piece of scrap. His clothes are singed. The tears stream endlessly. He hallucinates as blood leaves his body malnourished and fading. It's of a woman with bright ginger hair and a brash, lively London accent. She once was the best temp in Chiswick, and she's the one. Ianto realizes she's the one in which time converges and reality bends and the reason why everything is so, so very wrong.

Ianto loudly laughs at the absurdity once it hits him, and his stomach screams, blood trickling out. He's going to die aboard an alien ship while dreaming about a woman who's a figment of his dying imagination. It couldn't have been more poetic.

Despite all the damage in the room, the walls slide open, and the room is filled bright with the earth in view. Ianto clutches his stomach and clenches his jaw as he tries to shift himself for a better view. He finds it funny that the Sontarans would even have a room with such a splendid view of his home.

But it's covered in smoke. The ATMOS gas looks suffocating. It covers the entire surface, and Ianto can't see the beautiful color he remembers from his grammar school books. The distinct gray is ugly next to the vast darkness of space. The stars glimmer, promises of far off life who probably never heard of a little ball called Earth. He would have liked to go to those stars. Maybe ask Jack, they could make a trip up to space where their hands would skim along the lights and witness a supernova being born.

Ianto gasps, his chest heaving up and down and his innards just barely ripping from the movement. Water is still dripping from his eyes. He doesn't want to end this way. It's not supposed to end this way.

Then he spends his last thoughts on his family, the people he's lost, Gwen, Torchwood, and Jack. He briefly notes how terribly cliché it is to think about love during the last dying seconds.

He never did admit he loved the damned man anyway.

"Should've turned left," he says to no one in particular.

The last thing Ianto sees is the earth burning.

* * *

When Jack wakes up, there is a laser blaster pointed at his face by a potato-head in blue armor. He notices his commlink in the Sontaran's grasp.

"Who are you?"

Jack raises his hands in surrender as he stands up, quickly thinking of some sort exit strategy. "My name is Jack Harkness. I'm with Torchwood. I'm here to talk about a diplomatic meeting. Take me to your leader."

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You were dead, and now you're alive."

"I want to speak to your leader. Will you take me there?"

Alarms suddenly blare. A line of soldiers rush down the corrider, and another Sontaran barks that the gaseous atmosphere has been neutralized. They've been compromised, and that they need to leave _now_. The Sontaran cuffs Jack's hands and unmercilessly drags Jack down the corridor until they enter through to, Jack assumed, the main deck, buzzing with activity.

The Sontaran takes him to the head of the deck to a Sontaran addressed as general.

Jack catches snippets of commands and information as he's thrust forward and introduced. The deck screens show the Valiant on its way up with a fleet of UNIT's finest pilots collected from around the world, outnumbering whatever was left of the Sontaran army. They had the winning hand. Jack grins to himself, a sort of smug smirk, which forces a Sontaran general, the one called Staal, to smash the butt of his blaster into Jack's jaw. It sends Jack sprawling to the floor.

"Ouch. Not the greatest way to start a diplomatic meeting, but I could call them off if you're willing to work out a deal with us."

The general doesn't find Jack's stab at a joke humorous, nor does he bite at Jack's offer. "Your comrades are dead, Jack Harkness."

Jack's face falls. "You're lying," he growls.

"Show him."

One screen flicker to a storage room, filled with random odds and ends of wires and metal. Laid across the floor is a woman's body. Jack instantly recognizes the mop of brown hair and the black leather jacket.

"She died right here."

On another screen, another image comes up, buzzing with white lines and distorted like the camera had been damaged. But nevertheless, he still is able to see the metal rod jut from Ianto's abdomen, and despite the graininess, the red on his stomach is too bright, much too bright. Jack cannot help but to stare, unblinkingly, unwavering, and because of that, his eyes begin to fill with water. Even then, he can't look away.

"We will not stop fighting. Whatever your deal is, we will not retreat nor surrender."

"You killed them?" Jack asks, his voice a low murmur, even though he staring at the evidence. The screen glares back at him. His breathing hitches. Jack feels it, in which his lungs are clenching themselves inside out. He takes gulps of air, trying his damndest to breath.

"They died in a manner worthy of a Sontaran," the general says.

Jack harshly laughs, a mirthless sound that passes through his lips, and it's the only way he can continue to breath. "You're all cowards. You're running away from the real battle at home and from deaths 'worthy of a Sontaran'. You're making breeding farms instead of fighting in the war like actual soldiers. Let us make a deal, and you could go back home."

The room hushes, intimately knowing that what Jack says is true. The general looks around at his group of soldiers, speechless for a moment and gathering his wits.

"He cannot die," A Sontaran suddenly yells, pointing at Jack. "He came back to life after dying. We will take him back to Sontar and learn to create undying soldiers. We will be victorious! Sontar-ha!"

Despite their failures, their high-tailing and running away from even admitting defeat, the soldiers cheer and chant with their general. _Sontar-ha, Sontar-ha, Sontar-ha_!

"You poor, deluded bastards," Jack says, quiet and sad. "You'll get _nothing_."

* * *

Luke cranes his neck to look up. The sky is inky black, speckled with lights, and wonderfully clear. He breathes in the clean air, crisp and fresh like it's supposed to be. The line goes dead between him and Torchwood, so he rips the comm link out of his ear and stretches his arms to the limitless sky.

He spreads his fingers against the stars, the tips trying to touch the infinite space above him.

* * *

Jack finds himself in a holding cell on a foreign planet, shackles around his wrist, bruises and dried blood all over his body. He's died nearly seven hundred and sixty times, muscle stripped from his bones and organs dissected for experiments to discover the secrets of immortality, and not that he's counting because he doesn't know how long it's been since he's last seen home. Earth is millions of light-years away, but for Jack, there is no longer a home since it died on a Sontaran ship above the flaming sky.

As the stars are blinking out of existence, Jack Harkness is alone.

* * *

The traffic jam makes it impossible for Donna to turn right. Her mother sputters about the traffic, and Donna exhales, a tad frustrated. Then, taking a stab at her mother, Donna coolly comments how perhaps that secretary job had to wait.

She'd rather be a temp anyway. After all, she is the best.

Her mother splutters some more, telling Donna that she was ruining any chance at marriage. Donna ignores her and steps on the gas pedal, turning left.

* * *

The change is nearly imperceptible, fleeting like the short minutes that tick by on the arm in the wooden clock on Jack's desk. It's almost like time itself shifted back to its linear and steady course without a single hiccup.

Jack, of course, never really notices it. Instead, he shuffles some papers into a stack and then exits his office for a short stroll around the hub.

As he does, a fuzzy feeling of déjà vu niggles in the back of his mind for a split second. It echoes through his body, drenches him, and when Gwen rounds the corner, his throat constricts, tasting the pain of loss on his tongue.

"Here, Jack." Gwen gives him his striped mug, full of hot coffee.

He inhales deeply and then promptly moves to hug Gwen. She accepts it with a yelp, wide eyes, and a puzzled expression.

"Jack?" she asks while he wraps his arms around her and stays that way for several minutes. "Jack, you should let me go now."

"Oh, yeah, right." He lets go of her and beams.

"What was that?"

"Just feeling like I missed you."

Gwen laughs. "You just saw me five minutes ago."

"I did, didn't I? Take the day off. Go buy Rhys flowers or something."

"You're going crazy Jack," she warns, smiling at him before she leaves to lounge on their grungy couch. He hears her strong voice speaking to Rhys over the phone

Jack doesn't quite understand what's gotten into him suddenly, but he moves in bounds and leaps across the hub, trotting down the stairs to the archive in search of Ianto. He finds him near old hampered shelves, sitting at a cluttered table. The top is littered with stacks of folders, papers, and odd what-nots. Jack grins wickedly before deciding to discreetly sidle in behind Ianto.

"Not now sir. I'm flooded with backlog reports that need reorganizing." So much for sneaky.

"I'm losing my touch."

"For subtlety? You never had that to begin with."

Jack saunters up, following Ianto as the man picks up various artifacts and scribbles down notes. "I can be subtle," he murmurs into Ianto's ear.

Ianto maneuvers around Jack. "No you can't. You perpetually have a blazing neon sign on you that says _Under any circumstances, I cannot be subtle_."

"Really?"

Ianto simply smirks. Jack responds accordingly by placing his hands on Ianto's hips from behind and jutting his chin out from Ianto's shoulder. Ianto is completely unperturbed.

"What are you doing here anyway? I told you I'd be done in fifteen minutes when you called me."

"Do you ever get this feeling of déjà vu except it's not really déjà vu but a what-if situation?" Ianto quirks an eyebrow in Jack's direction without looking up.

"I don't quite understand what you mean, but...no."

"I feel as if I woke up from weirdest dream."

"Define weird sir."

Jack lets go of Ianto and begins picking up artifacts on the table, examining them. "It's a little hazy. It was like the future wasn't what it was supposed to be. Like time was unglued and then warped."

"Alas, it's the trouble with our times," Ianto dryly deadpans. Jack looks at him with a puzzled expression.

"Valery? French poet? Philosopher?" Jack gives him a sheepish shrug. "He said 'The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be.'"

Jack whistles. "Profound."

"I think he was lamenting about some existential plight." Jack chuckles and then pauses for a moment.

"It was as if, everything was different." Jack sticks his hands into his trouser pockets and leans against the wall. "We lost so much, and yet, you and me, still here."

Ianto looks up, his face serious. "I believe...that," he slowly begins, "people bond over the things they lose."

Jack thinks of Tosh and Owen and the large, gaping void they left behind. He thinks of the losses from the past, present, and future. "Yeah."

Jack walks up to Ianto's back and then leans his head in, resting it in the crook of Ianto's neck. Ianto reaches out a hand and rakes his fingers through Jack's hair.

"I have this lingering feeling that I lost Gwen. And you," he says.

"As you said earlier Jack, you and me, still here. Gwen, I believe, you let her leave early today."

Jack chuckles, his voice reverberating against Ianto's skin. "How did you know that?"

"I'm that amazing."

"That you are Ianto."

Jack lifts up his head and locks eyes with Ianto. He moves in and kisses Ianto's cheek, an impossibly affectionate gesture.

"Jack?"

Jack leans back, grasping Ianto's shoulders, and impishly grins. "I'm thinking Chinese for dinner and a Douglas Sirk melodrama for after. Your place?"

Ianto rolls his eyes. "When I'm done. Give me another five minutes."

Surprisingly, Jack doesn't protest, but instead gives Ianto a look, an overwhelming, as if Ianto is life itself kind of look. "Sure. I'll be in my office."

Ianto smiles to himself when he turns back to his work.

* * *

Five minutes later, Ianto keeps true to his promise.

* * *

Hours after, they never quite make it to the bed. They're on Ianto's couch, half-naked and content, still awake, while take-away boxes litter the coffee table in front of them, and their clothes litter the floor. The television is quiet, soft as a prayer, as the film begins again for a second time. They lost their interest thirty minutes in the first time the film played, after Ianto ostensibly slid his hand up Jack's thigh, but he has a compulsion to finish movies he started.

Swelling music plays in the background as the television lights up in bright, saturated colors. Ianto watches while Jack whispers outrageously impossible stories into Ianto's ear.

Ianto lazily threads his fingers through Jack's hair as Jack tells him another story involving three armed aliens, a lost princess, and an accidental marriage to a giant slug. Ianto doesn't believe a single story, but laughs anyway, full and whole-hearted.

Jack wistfully grins back when Ianto informs him that his stories are outrageously impossible and therefore completely untrue. And when Ianto notices this and the tinge of sadness in Jack's face, he suddenly leans over and kisses the man. Jack's mouth is warm and beautifully alive under his.

"What was that for?" Jack asks a bit incredulously after Ianto settles back into the couch and into the movie.

Ianto wraps the blanket tighter around them. "Nothing."

Jack, some what annoyed but also amused, grabs Ianto's face and pulls him in. He drags his lips up from Ianto's jaw line to his mouth. "That wasn't nothing," he murmurs against Ianto.

"Nope, it wasn't," Ianto quietly says in response, his breath hitching.

Jack kisses Ianto again, this time fervent and almost worshipful. "I'm never going to understand you, am I Ianto?"

"Not much to understand." Ianto's hand moves up to clasp Jack's neck. He cranes his head closer, closer, until his mouth is a centimeter away from Jack's. "I'm not really anybody."

"But you are definitely somebody," Jack whispers, his voice low and enticing. His mouth curves up in a gentle slope, and his thumb tenderly traces Ianto's mouth. "Most definitely somebody," he softly repeats before he closes the however small distance between them.

Ianto doesn't reply, but instead slides down to lie on the couch, dragging Jack with him.

And without a thought, he kisses Jack again and again and again.

* * *

_fin._


End file.
